


Pasta

by bellalinguista



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellalinguista/pseuds/bellalinguista
Summary: Maya confesses that she doesn't like pasta. Carina is determined to prove otherwise.
Relationships: Maya Bishop/Carina DeLuca
Comments: 19
Kudos: 234





	Pasta

Eyebrows raised, Carina stares at her phone in disbelief as she leans back against her office chair. She shakes her head slightly to herself as she rereads Maya’s last text over and over again, as if trying to make sense of it all, but it doesn’t register. She cannot comprehend at no fault to any language barrier, either. You see, she understands each word perfectly. That is not the issue; the issue is the order in which they are placed to form a rather incomprehensible sentence.

_ That sounds great, but I have a confession to make: I.. kind of don’t like pasta. _

They were supposed to grab lunch together here at the hospital during her shift, but it just wasn’t in the cards. With back to back deliveries and scheduled appointments, their lunch didn’t happen and Maya was very understanding. It was part of the job and there has been more than one occasion where a meal at the station was cut short due to an emergency call.

They never took it personally. It was out of their control. They were saving lives, or helping bring new ones into the world - events that very much did not care about one’s own schedule.

This, however, this Carina struggles to not take personally. ‘Kind of don’t like pasta?’ What does that even mean? How is that even possible? She scrolls up slightly to reread their conversation.

_ Bella, I am sorry, but I do not think it’s going to happen. :( _

_ I get it. It’s fine. :) _

_ Let me make it up to you: come to my place tonight and I will cook us dinner, among other things? ;) What is your favorite pasta? _

_ That sounds great, but I have a confession to make: I.. kind of don’t like pasta. _

Carina spends more time than she should during this rare break in her work day searching for the broken heart emoji, but it is  _ necessary _ to convey her true feelings in this moment. One probably would have sufficed. 

She sends five.

And then follows it up quickly with the pouty face emoji.

Because sometimes, not even words could truly express one’s emotions.

_ I know, I know.. I’m terrible. I’ve committed a terrible Italian sin. _

_ Sì, I am casting you straight to Dante’s inferno - sixth level. _

There’s no response, so Carina sets it phone done and turns to her computer. Technically, she’s taking a break, but.. it wouldn’t hurt to catch up on some of the paperwork she needs to have in the system by the end of her shift. 

She barely finishes entering her log in credentials when her phone vibrates and lights up again: a text alert.

_ Sorry - had to Google. You’re putting me in heresy? I CLEARLY belong in lust. _

A short laugh escapes her. “ _ Dio mio _ ,” she murmurs under her breath as she quickly writes back:  _ Ah, scusami, amore. But we did eat the lasagna I brought to you at work a while ago. _

_ Wasn’t the only thing we ate. _

Carina smirks at the memory, but she’s not falling for Maya’s trap. She’s sees right through her. Or in this case... reads right through her..?

_ You are deflecting. You did not like it? _

_ I enjoyed the lasagna because not only did YOU make it, but you also took the time to bring it over when I was having a shitty day. I’m just saying, if you give me a menu, I’m going to stir clear from the pasta section. _

_ I mean, so do I, but I promise you we have drastically different reasons. I am going to change your mind about pasta, Maya. Ti giuro.  _

_ Can we have the same dessert as before? You don’t need to change my mind there. ;) _

_ I will see you after work. TVB <3 _ __  
  


\---

She gets out of the hospital a little bit later than anticipated and arrives at her apartment late, but Maya doesn’t seem to mind. The captain is there to greet her girlfriend home from a shift that felt neverending with a more than welcoming, deep kiss. Carina is also rather grateful for the... ‘help’ in changing into more comfortable clothes for the evening.

Both would be quick to deny that it may have made the process longer. Due to conflicting work schedules, they hadn’t seen each other in a few days.

So, Carina appreciates the ‘help.’

The multiple ‘helps,’ rather.

“Okay, explain yourself,  _ bella _ , and smash the pistachios to almost a powder, okay?” Carina says, pointing to the mortar and pestle she set on the counter in front of Maya. She goes to fetch the other necessary kitchen tools. She already has a specific dish in mind to help change Maya’s opinion. 

“Do you know how much pasta I had to eat growing up?”

“And that’s a problem?” Carina teases, placing the drizzled olive oiled pan on the burner and going to fill the pot with water. She glances over to ensure that the captain is following orders. Maya is obediently doing her best to grind the pistachios; Carina could almost bet she’s never used a mortar and pestle before. 

Spotting the mess growing on the counter changes her mind, though, Carina would most definitely make that bet.

“The night before every race, the carb loading was  _ horrible _ ,” Maya explains. “The mushiness of the noodles covered in a sauce that vaguely resembles tomatoes, but just tastes of plastic and sadness -- isn’t that a bit too much salt?”

Shaking her head, Carina pours the small pile of salt from her hand into the water in the pot and turns on the heat. “You want it to be as salty as the Mediterrean sea, trust me,” she assures, picking up the cutting board, knife, and onion. She sets them down across from Maya and begins to dice. “ _ Allora, capisco _ \- you’ve just never had  _ good,  _ properly cooked pasta before.” 

Both women look up from their task at hand and lock eyes with matching smirks.

“Well, some of us didn’t grow up in the land of spaghetti and meatballs, you know,” Maya grunts as she returns to smashing.

Carina laughs, “Well,  _ I _ , didn’t - you did. Spaghetti and meatballs is an American invention.” 

“Hang on - ” 

“Popularized by a popular Disney cartoon movie, I think, but I could be wrong,” Carina continues, carrying the cutting board back over to the stove. She slides the onion into the hot oil. “For the record: chicken parmesan, marsala, and alfredo - all not Italian either.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re messing with me,” Maya remarks. Content with her work, she puts down the pestle and cleans the counter of the stray, escaped bits of pistacchio.

“Completely serious. Italians do not joke when it comes to our food. The majority of what’s called ‘Italian’ here doesn’t truly represent what we eat back home. There’s no real.. standard Italian cuisine. Dishes vary based on which region you’re from. We all have our specialties,” Carina states matter-of-factly, returning to the counter. She leans forward and rests her forearms against the cool marble. 

Pushing the mortar aside, Maya leans forward as well, closing the space between them. She places a small kiss on Carina’s lips.

“Noted,” Maya murmurs almost against them as Carina gently cups her cheek to pull her in for another.

Against Maya’s will, Carina steps back and picks up the mortar. “ _ Grazie, bella _ \- almost as good as a food processor,” she comments.

“Wait, are you telling me I could have used a  _ food processor _ ?!” Maya exclaims, standing up straight.

Carina hums as she returns to the stove. She adds the pistacchio to the pan, followed with more oil olive to make almost a paste. “ _ Sì _ , but I love it when you use your muscles,” she remarks, glancing over. She can see Maya starting to blush; she smiles slightly at her own personal small victory.

Maya walks around the counter and leans against it, just to be a little bit closer to Carina. “So, what are we making exactly?” she finally asks. 

“ _ Farfalle al pistacchio _ ,” Carina answers, making a quick trip to the fridge to fetch the heavy cream. “The butterfly-type pasta in a pistachio cream sauce. It’s a dish from back home in Sicily.” 

“Is it your favorite?” Maya follows up.

“One of them,” Carina replies, glancing over, as she opens the container and slowly pours into the paste. “Seems easier to stomach for Americans than my actual favorite -  _ spaghetti ai ricci di mare _ . Spaghetti with, umm..” she hesitates, trying to find the correct word. “Ah,  _ sì,  _ sea urchin - don’t make that face, it’s actually really good!” 

Maya holds her hands up, caught in the act.

“When I was a kid, before my parents divorced,  _ Papà  _ would take Andrea and me out on the boat early in the morning to go fishing,” Carina begins, gently stirring the sauce together before leaving it to simmer. She adds the pasta to the boiling water and hovers over the stove. “We’d spend a couple hours trying to catch fish to grill for lunch - sometimes we’d also find a stray squid, too.  _ Papà  _ would take us back to shore before returning to fish on his own for a while more. Andrea and I would comb the low water reefs for the urchins. He’d point where they were and I would carefully retrieve them - he used to be  _ so _ scared. On a good day, early in the season, we could get a whole bag full. Those were the best days because it meant there’d be enough for  _ Mamma _ to make the pasta and enough for us to snack on before lunch, too.”

“Sounds like a very sweet memory,” Maya comments.

Carina nods gently, “It is.” 

“Do you miss it?”

“ _ Cosa _ ?” 

“Sorry, do you miss being back in Italy?” Maya clarifies. 

A moment of silence passes between the two of them as they become a bit hyper aware of the gurgling of the boiling water in the pasta pot. Carina sighs heavily and takes a step back, folding her arms over her chest. With a faint frown, she turns to Maya and shrugs her shoulders lightly.

“I mean, I came out here to keep an eye on my baby brother, just in case - I know he’s an adult and he’s capable of taking care of himself, but.. _la famiglia è_ _importante, no_?” Carina says. “But home will always be home; Italy was all I really knew before coming here. Yes, I’ve traveled, but.. Italy raised me. There’s always that.. that ache, longing almost.”

Maya nods along and asks the question that has crossed her mind frequently since they started dating, “Would you go back?”

Carina offers a genuine, reassuring smile as she strides over to the other woman. “I’m not going anywhere, Maya. You don’t have to worry,” she promises, wrapping her arms around Maya’s waist and pulling her close. “ _ Ti voglio bene, amore _ .”

“Me, too,” Maya replies quietly, returning the embrace. She leans up as Carina lowers her head slightly for their lips to meet in a soft, tender kiss. “You’ll take me someday?” 

“ _ Ma certo _ , of course,” Carina answers. 

The sudden hissing from the stove causes both of them to crash back into their reality. They both turn their attention to the stove, where the water is boiling over and immediately evaporating upon contact with the burner. Carina dashes back over to the stove, turns off the heat, and stirs the water until it stops boiling over.

Maya watches as she strains the pasta over the sink - she makes the mistake of asking Carina if she needs to run the cold water. The look alone she receives reminds her of Dante’s sixth level of hell. Maya decides to keep the comment of tossing a noddle against the cabinet to see if it’s done to herself. Carina adds the  _ farfalle _ to the sauce pan and thoroughly mixes before plating. As she goes to grab the parmiggiano from the fridge, Maya picks up one for the dishes. 

“ _ Aspetta! Aspetta! Aspetta! _ ”

Maya stops in her tracks and waits. Carina comes back over and carefully sprinkles the cheese over the pasta. She then nods, giving Maya permission, “Okay, now you’re good.”

With her fork, Maya picks at a couple of the pieces and took her first bite under Carina’s very watchful eye. The pasta has a bit of a bit to it - there’s an actual texture that Maya hasn’t ever associated with it before. Throughout her childhood, pasta was  _ always _ mushy and bland - this is a far cry from that. Not to mention the creamy, nutty sauce that had a little surprise kick. Carina must’ve snuck in red pepper flakes when she wasn’t paying attention.

She mets Carina’s gaze and nods in approval.

“It tastes good?” Carina asks, grinning.

“It’s  _ good _ ,” Maya confirms, causing the doctor to dance in place in victory. It’s adorable - the little celebratory party she decided to throw herself. “But you know what’d be even better?” Maya challenges, immediately crashing the party.

“ _ Cosa _ ?” Carina huffs.

“You,” Maya smirks.

Carina returns the same devious smirk, “That can most definitely be arranged.” 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Based off an Instagram live Danielle did in which she says that she does not like pasta and my Italian brain still can’t process fully.


End file.
